


From The Pointy End

by Lady_T_220



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Coming Out, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-21
Updated: 2011-05-21
Packaged: 2017-10-19 16:09:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/202716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_T_220/pseuds/Lady_T_220
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A friendly cockpit question time</p>
            </blockquote>





	From The Pointy End

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Cabin Pressure fic prompt meme - [Original Prompt](http://cabinpres-fic.livejournal.com/728.html?thread=69080#t69080)

"I know we've had this conversation before, Martin, but I am going to ask it again. Why don't you date cabin crew?"

Martin sighed. "It's not going to work, Douglas. You can stop now."

"But you're a pilot," Douglas said, as if that was the answer to pretty much everything. "Discounting the inherent drawback of your personality and total lack of outside interests, I'm sure even you could pretend to not be you for the time it would take to negotiate a quickie behind the catering vans."

Martin could feel the creeping sense of unease starting to flush his face. "I just don't want to, that's all."

"But why?" Douglas persisted.

"Several thousand feet in the air is not the place to be having this discussion," Martin grumbled. The cockpit, small to start with, seemed to shrink with every eloquent raise of Douglas's eyebrow.

"You're avoiding answering the question."

"It's because... just because, alright?" Martin huffed.

Douglas rolled his eyes. "Eloquent as ever, Captain, of course now I understand perfectly."

"Douglas, please-" Martin knew there was a hint of distress audible in his voice, but as ever Douglas steamrolled over it.

"No, no, Martin, say not a word more. It's all clear as day to me now. Of course you most certainly can't contemplate a snatched moment of mindless sexual bliss, not from the likes of the eager, easily-impressed, stocking-clad, mildly nymphomaniacal ranks of the cabin crews because ' _Because_ '."

Martin's hands were tight around the controls. "Don't make me say it," he whined quietly.

"Say what?"

"Nothing." Martin's lips pressed into a thin line. "Just forget it. You'd only tease me about it anyway."

"You giveth the spectre of entertainment and then so cruelly taketh away, oh great and theatrical Captain," Douglas said. "You should just spit it out, of course. You know I'll find out sooner or later and I only tease for the most justifiable of reasons."

"Excuse me if that does not exactly fill me with confidence."

"Martin-"

"I'm gay, alright?" Martin snapped. "I'm gay. Big flaming queer, roll out the fairy jokes, are you bloody happy now?"

"And...?" said Douglas mildly.

"And? And what? What do you mean, 'and'?" Martin stuttered.

"I mean, fascinating as that particular non-sequitur is, it still does not answer my question. Obviously the nymph-like ladies of a coffee-dispensing disposition are off the agenda, but their aisle-tripping dryad cousins are, on the most part, of much the same opinion."

There was a pause.

"So..." Martin hesitated. "You're not... going to tease me about it? No bottom references or sarcastic remarks?"

Douglas shot him a slightly disbelieving look.

"As if I would! I'm honestly a little upset you would even think such a thing."

"So you really don't mind...?" Martin said again and Douglas sighed heavily.

"I can honestly say, hand on heart, that neither the gender nor the bodily orifice you most desire to insert intimate parts of yourself into could possibly matter to me less."

Martin blinked at him stupidly for a moment.

"Oh," Martin said. "Well that's... well... thank you, Douglas."

"Not a problem," Douglas replied dryly.

"I must say I wasn't expecting you to be so accepting about it."

Douglas shot him that slightly wounded expression again. "Hard to credit it, I know, that a man my age has somehow made it through life accepting a great deal of amazingly undramatic things. I accept tea strainers too, and people who wear yellow, and water-skiing dogs. Gay or straight or somewhere down the middle makes not one blind bit of difference to me, Martin. Not least because it would be most unspeakably hypocritical of me if it did."

"Would it?" Martin said, startled.

"Yes."

"But you're- well, I thought you were straight."

"Oh, I am. But you remember I told you about my first stag night, and the Kink who could fit three golf balls in his mouth?"

"Yes..." Martin admitted warily.

"Let's just say that after the single malt was all gone, that's not all he was eager to fit in his mouth, and leave it at that."

Martin stared at him. "Oh," he said. "OH!"

"Yes, as you so eloquently put it, oh."

"Oh. So-"

"Yes."

"Oh."

Douglas glanced at him. "Stimulating as this line of questioning is, and believe me he was _very_ stimulating, but you still haven't yet answered the original query that led us down this conversational back alley in the first place. And I would like to point out that was not intended as a pun."

Martin sighed. "You're not going to let it go, are you?"

"You really ought to know me better than that by now," Douglas replied.

Martin frowned, looking distinctly put-upon. "I just don't like asking them," he admitted. "They're just going to say no and it's embarrassing. Every time I work up the nerve to say something I get this image in my head of them all meeting up later in some secret cabin-crew lounge and laughing about it and I just... I can't do it."

"Oh, come on," Douglas said. "You know that's ridiculous. Dashing young pilot, surely they'd be hard put to refuse. Especially the foreign ones, your reputation can't have preceded you all the way to Qantas quite yet."

"They'll say no because I'm me," Martin pouted. "Good things just don't happen to me."

"Well they certainly won't with that sort of attitude," Douglas sniffed.

"Forgive me if I don't hold out great hope," Martin said. "Not if past form is anything to go by."

"Why, how long did your last relationship survive?" Douglas asked.

Martin mumbled something inaudible.

"Didn't quite catch that," Douglas prodded, one eyebrow cocked in cynical expectation.

Martin scowled. "Twenty three minutes," he said again.

There was a long pause. Douglas opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again, rubbing at his forehead for a moment before settling on a reply.

"Martin," he said. "That's not even a date, that's talking to a stranger at a bar."

"I know, I know," Martin sighed. "I just don't have a lot of luck in that department."

"Obviously," said Douglas.

"Or really... any luck in that department," Martin added under his breath.

Douglas stared at him. "What, _never_?"

Martin flushed scarlet. "What? No! Of course I have!"

"When?" Douglas demanded.

"Plenty of times!" Martin huffed. "Well, twice... before flying school..."

"Oh dear God," Douglas managed.

"What?" Martin whined. "Between this and my _actual_ job I don't get time."

"Clients!" Douglas exclaimed suddenly.

Martin blinked at him in confusion. "Clients? What, the passengers? Carolyn would kill me."

"No, of course I don't mean passengers," Douglas said. "I mean clients. As in 'Good morning, sir. May I... _move your box_?'"

"Douglas, that's obscene!" Martin hissed.

"It really isn't though. Offering to French Polish their credenza however-"

"Douglas!"

"I'm serious. Wait until the good weather comes around, learn how to take your shirt off in slow motion and away you go."

"I move boxes and ugly student furniture, it's not a porn movie," snapped Martin.

"When life deals you lemons, Martin, you are the only man I know who would send them back in favour of vinegar."


End file.
